


louder than the maker’s revolver (and twice as shiny)

by lesbianryuko



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: ??? i guess??, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fabulous Killjoys Fusion, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blue-Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Canon-Typical Violence, Default Hawke (Dragon Age), Developing Relationship, Ensemble Cast, F/F, Hawke (Dragon Age) Has a Twin, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Red Hawke (Dragon Age), Slow Burn, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, at least in regards to the level/volume of violence, god how do i even tag this thing, more tags will be added as i think of them, you dont need to know the killjoy universe to read this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22064383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianryuko/pseuds/lesbianryuko
Summary: “Does the name Meredith Stannard mean anything to any of you?”In which an eight-person gang of rebels living in the desert pisses off the government, firefights are lost and won, homoerotic wound-dressing is commonplace, bonds are forged and broken and reforged, feelings are hard, fighting a powerful and corrupt institution is slightly less hard, and everyone is just trying to survive, to heal, to find their way.(Or, “the DA2 Killjoy AU nobody asked for”)
Relationships: Anders/Fenris/Hawke, Anders/Fenris/Male Hawke, Bethany Hawke/Merrill, Female Hawke/Isabela, Hawke/Isabela (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	louder than the maker’s revolver (and twice as shiny)

**Author's Note:**

> ITS STILL 2019 OUT WEST I MADE IT
> 
> ok so. [cracks knuckles]
> 
> this is an AU fic based on the universe created in my chemical romance's album "danger days: the true lives of the fabulous killjoys" (and gerard way's subsequent comics) about rebels in the desert fighting a corrupt government post-apocalypse. the album starts/takes place in the year 2019 which is why i wanted to get this fic out before the year ends. while the general setting and terms are the same, no characters from the killjoy universe will appear and everything else is a more loose interpretation. you do not have to be familiar with my chem or the killjoy universe to read this. (for those who know the story, this fic takes place in the year 2030, so after the original "fab four" have died but before the events of the comics, during a sort of "lull" in the action you could say)
> 
> a key feature of the killjoy universe is the usage of "killjoy names," usually one or two-word phrases that relate to the person, and often the person created the name themself - the original four are party poison, fun ghoul, jet star, and kobra kid. i've given each member of the crew a killjoy name (see below) that the other characters will usually use in dialogue (except for characters who knew each other before they became killjoys and got names), but i will use their real names for the most part in narration so you don't forget who's who
> 
> ANYWAY i've been planning this fic for a whole year now and it's gonna be a FUN RIDE !!!! i've left a guide in the end notes that you can skip to for the killjoy names (not all of them are mentioned in this chapter though). i tried my best to explain what certain terms mean in this chapter but they will all be expanded upon more throughout the fic!! ALSO some of characters might end up aged down a little bit because people in the zones tend not to live very long and someone in their early to mid 40s is considered like, ancient in the comics. bethany and carver are still 19 though, the others might just be adjusted in proportion
> 
> thank u for reading, i love ensemble casts and da2 and mcr and rebellion and also being gay. fic title and chapter title come from "look alive, sunshine" (by mcr of course lol)

Bethany has never been one to complain, but she has to admit, her knee hurts like a _bitch._

The rest of the Birds take down the remaining Draculoids fairly easily, so she doesn’t feel as bad about having to hide crouched behind a crate on the ground. If there were more of them, or if there was a Scarecrow, she’d probably try to keep fighting despite her injury, but this is just a small, unlucky group of Dracs, leaderless and mindless in their pursuit of one of the biggest gangs in the Zones. Perhaps a Scarecrow would have ordered them not to try to fight a group of eight fairly seasoned Killjoys.

When the guns stop firing and the Dracs lie dead in the desert sand, Isabela’s voice floats over. “You know, Blondie, a smoke bomb would’ve helped.”

Anders sighs. Bethany can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Those things don’t grow on trees, you know. And even if they did, it’s not like we _have_ many trees out here. You think I want to waste them on a group like that? We got rid of them just fine.”

Bethany peers out from behind the crate just in time to see Isabela shrug and gesture to her. “Well, at the very least, it might’ve saved Sunshine from being shot.”

At that, Carver seems to snap to attention. “Bethany’s hurt?”

Now it’s Bethany’s turn to sigh. Gingerly stretching her leg out and trying not to wince, she says, “It’s not that bad, Carver.”

Marian huffs, shoving her red-and-black ray gun back into its holster. “‘Not that bad,’ my ass.” She sounds angry, but there’s an edge of worry to her voice that Bethany knows like the back of her hand. “A few more shots like that and you’d have been dusted for sure.”

“But I wasn’t,” Bethany replies. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Anders rummaging through their supplies for the first aid kit.

“But you _could’ve_ been,” Carver adds, crossing his arms and glaring at Marian as if she had something to do with the injury.

Marian scowls defensively. “What are you looking at me for? I was killing Dracs! Maybe if you weren’t so busy trying to show off at every opportunity, you could _protect_ her better!” She sneers out the word _protect._

“Maybe if you actually thought before you acted for _once_ in your life—”

“ _Hey_!”

Garrett’s voice rings out above everything else, so loud and firm that for a split second it feels like the whole world stops. These are the moments when Garrett Hawke is at his most serious and his most powerful: when he’s breaking up an argument between Carver and Marian.

“How about instead of blaming each other for Bethany’s injury,” he says, his hands held up in an appeasing manner, “we set up camp here and rest for the evening?”

Marian and Carver exchange glances. After a pause, it’s Marian that says, “Fine.”

The place in question is an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Zone Four, not so remote that it’s off the map, but remote enough that there aren’t a whole lot of Dracs crawling around (and even fewer now that they’ve taken care of this group). A few empty crates and barrels litter the ground surrounding it, some knocked over or zapped from previous firefights. Other than that, there are no recent signs of life—which means it’s a perfect place for the Birds of Passage to recuperate.

Bethany pushes herself to her feet, using the top of the crate to balance herself. Her knee hurts even more when she tries to stretch it out or place any weight on it, but she’ll be damned if she lets anyone help her.

“Are you alright?”

Well... _almost_ anyone.

She lifts her head up at the sound of Merrill’s lilting voice. The girl’s black hair is plastered to her tattooed and sweat-covered face, not long enough to pull up into a ponytail like Bethany’s, but just long enough to get in the way. “I can help you get inside, if you want,” she says, holding her hand out. “Then we can take a look at it, get it all wrapped up.”

For a moment, Bethany just stares at her, searching her face for any signs of pity. Instead she finds only sincere concern for a companion, the same as it would be if any of the others were injured. With a nod, she lets Merrill wrap an arm around her shoulders and guide her slowly into the warehouse. She can feel the eyes of the rest of the group on them, some more subtle than others, but she knows deep down that they’re just making sure she’s okay. Like it or not, she and Carver _are_ the youngest, and though he tries so obviously hard to act like he isn’t, there are still moments where the others look at him and remember that he’s only nineteen, too—moments like right now, as he paces agitatedly across the floor, looking like he’s never been more stressed in his life.

“Carver,” Bethany calls as Merrill helps her sit up against the wall, her legs stretched out. “I’ll be fine.” She laughs a little despite the stinging pain. “It’s not like we’ll have to amputate it or anything.”

Anders kneels down beside her, first aid kit in hand and a good-natured smile on his face. “We might.”

Merrill smacks his arm. “Don’t scare them!” she hisses as she sits down next to Bethany.

Garrett turns to Carver, cool and composed. “She’s fine,” he says matter-of-factly, a playful smirk on his face. “If it were really that bad, none of us would be joking.”

Carver snorts. “ _You_ might.”

Garrett puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Dear brother, you _wound_ me.”

Merrill giggles as she watches them, her gaze soft. “Your siblings remind me of my family sometimes,” she says as Anders begins cleaning and dressing the wound. “Well-intentioned, but sometimes they need to be reminded that you’re an adult, same as them.”

Bethany nods. If there’s anyone that understands her, it’s Merrill. “To be fair,” she says quietly, “sometimes I need to be reminded of that, too.”

Merrill turns to look at her, pushing a few strands of hair out of her face. “Then I’ll remind you,” she says. “You’re a grown woman. You don’t have to always agree or go along with them. You can stand up for yourself like anyone else.”

Bethany nods again, unable to stop a faint smile from breaking through. Anders doesn’t say anything, but she can see the blush on his face, as if he’s just witnessed something he feels he wasn’t meant to see.

—

_The Hawkes are only on the run for a month or two before they meet their first recruit (and fifth member)._

_Well, perhaps “on the run” isn’t the right phrase. All Killjoys are technically “on the run” from Better Living Industries—it comes with the whole “openly rebelling against your corrupt government” thing. But it doesn’t really feel like running. It feels like surviving. Every Killjoy knows it’s dangerous to stay in one place for too long._

_Still, they’re traveling a lot more than they did when their parents were both still alive. Growing up in the Zones outside of Battery City, away from BLI brainwashing, the Hawke children learned how to thrive in the desert fairly quickly, which meant that their family was able to more easily live off the land for longer periods of time._

_Now, though, after selling most of their belongings, they live out of their car, a black 1969 Chevy Camaro convertible, spray-painted with two red stripes down the sides and a red bird symbol on the hood (courtesy of Garrett). In honor of their surname as well as their living situation, they’ve christened themselves the Birds of Passage._

_For obvious reasons, one of their most common pit stops is one of several Dead Pegasus gas stations littering the Zones. The siblings usually draw straws to determine which one of them has to pump the gas._

_“Damn! Again?” Carver says, staring at the short straw between his fingers in disbelief. Frowning, he starts to open the left-side car door. “Just my luck.”_

_In the driver’s seat, Marian reaches into the back and pats Carver on the shoulder, a smirk on her face. “You’ll live. Now go.” With that, she gives him a light shove out the door. Carver snorts._

_As he starts pumping the gas, Marian absentmindedly surveys the area, not really expecting to see anything out of the ordinary. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she spots someone she’s never seen before at one of the other fuel pumps: a petite girl filling up a black and forest green motorbike._

_Bethany seems to notice her at the same time. “Who’s that?”_

_Garrett strokes his beard, like an asshole. “No idea.”_

_“Let’s find out.” Before anyone else can respond, Marian hops out of the car, popping the collar of her black leather jacket. She’s mostly tuned Garrett out at this point, but she thinks she can hear him warn her not to scare the poor girl. He underestimates her ability to be charming rather than terrifying._

_The first thing Marian notices is that the girl dresses like a Killjoy. Her brown boots have flowers painted on the sides, and her acid-washed jeans are ripped and dirty. The back of her denim vest features a large daisy with white petals and a yellow center, and in the center is a radiation hazard symbol._

_“Nice logo,” Marian says as she approaches._

_The girl yelps in surprise, nearly dropping the gas pump in her hands. When she turns around, Marian sees that her face is adorned with branch- or root-like tattoos on her cheeks, forehead, and chin. “Oh!” she says, clearly taken aback. “Uh…thank you.”_

_Marian can practically hear Garrett’s “I told you so” from the Camaro. Holding a hand up, she says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Somehow, her voice still comes out sounding gruff and vaguely threatening._

_“Oh, that’s alright,” the girl replies, leaning against her motorcycle and seeming to relax a little. “I was just filling up Feathers.”_

_Marian raises an eyebrow. “Strange name for a motorcycle.”_

_The girl blushes. “Well, I named it after a pet I had when I was younger.”_

_“Oh,” Marian says, nodding. That makes a bit more sense. “A bird?”_

_The girl laughs a little and shakes her head. “Oh, no, it was a lizard. I always wanted a bird so I could name it Feathers. But I grew up in the Zones, and there aren’t many birds out here. Lots of lizards, though.” She gives Marian a lopsided smile. “I took what I could get.”_

_Marian can’t help it; she laughs, though in the back of her mind, she wonders why she’s never seen this girl before, if she grew up in the Zones._

_“Oh! I’m so sorry,” the girl says, her green eyes widening. “I didn’t mean to ramble. I didn’t even introduce myself.” She holds out a hand, both of which are covered in long, fingerless fishnet gloves that end near her elbows. “Deadly Daisy. Daisy for short. Or you can just call me Merrill. I don’t mind.”_

_That explains the logo. “Kitty Hawke,” Marian replies, shaking Merrill’s hand firmly._

_Merrill nods and starts to speak again, but something behind Marian makes her stop and narrow her eyes in confusion. “Who—?”_

_Marian glances over her shoulder and nearly jumps out of her shoes. Not one, not two, but all three of her siblings have decided to join the conversation._

_“Firebird,” Garrett says, bowing dramatically—so dramatically, in fact, that it makes his stupid sunglasses fall off his face. Garrett has a habit of collecting weird sunglasses and goggles and such. This particular pair has bright orange lenses, which Marian is pretty sure do nothing to block out the sun, and flames sticking out on either side._

_Marian rolls her eyes. “My twin brother,” she explains. “It seems I stole all his brain cells in the womb.”_

_Garrett blows a raspberry at her as he picks his sunglasses off the ground and uses his shirt to wipe off the sand and dirt._

_Bethany steps forward, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ears, one of her nervous habits. “Midnight Sun,” she says with a tiny smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”_

_“Oh! You, too!” Merrill says. Gesturing to Carver, who has yet to say anything, she asks, “Who’s the grumpy one?”_

_“I’m not—” Carver starts, but he cuts himself off at the sound of his siblings’ snickering. “Fantom Fighter,” he says, his face heating up. “Two Fs.” He turns around and gestures to the two large black Fs painted on the back of his jean jacket. Then, gesturing to Bethany, he adds, “I’m her twin brother.”_

_Bethany chuckles. “And we’re all siblings.”_

_Merrill cups her hands over her face. “Oh, my goodness.”_

_Marian clears her throat. “Anyway,” she says, side-eyeing Garrett, “why are you guys even here?”_

_Garrett throws his hands up. “Don’t look at me! I am but a slave to the whims of our younger siblings!”_

_Bethany and Carver exchange embarrassed glances, then both turn to glare at Garrett. Marian sighs. They’re all a mess._

_“Oh, well, I shouldn’t keep you,” Merrill says, patting the side of her motorcycle. “Feathers and I can get moving, if you all need to leave.”_

_That catches Marian’s attention. “Wait, you’re traveling alone?” She hadn’t seen anyone else around, but she’d assumed that Merrill had at least one companion somewhere, perhaps inside the shitty convenience store connected to the gas station._

_Merrill nods. “I was raised by neutrals,” she says—people who live outside Battery City, but don’t openly rebel against BLI. “I didn’t become a Killjoy until just recently. I haven’t really found a group yet.”_

_That explains why Marian’s never seen her before. Neutrals tend to stay out of the way unless they run a business, like their friend Varric._

_“That’s dangerous, you know,” Carver says, but he sounds less matter-of-fact and more concerned. “You’re a lot more likely to get ghosted by yourself.”_

_Merrill sighs. “I know. But what am I supposed to do? Invite myself to tag along with the next Killjoy gang I see?”_

_Garrett shrugs. “Why not? You could tag along with us.”_

_To be fair, Marian had been thinking that, too, in the back of her mind, but it still stuns her to actually hear it spoken._

_Merrill’s eyes widen with hope. “That would be wonderful, but I wouldn’t want to impose…”_

_Instinctively, Marian and her siblings all turn to look at each other, none of them saying anything, just glancing back and forth with various facial expressions ranging from embarrassment to uncertainty to excitement. Finally, Marian turns back to Merrill and says, “You wouldn’t be imposing. We’d be glad to have you join us.”_

_Merrill gasps. “Oh, thank you! You won’t regret it, I promise!”_

_Bethany smiles. “Welcome to the Birds of Passage, Daisy.”_

_(At the use of Merrill’s Killjoy name, Marian briefly wonders just how long her siblings had been eavesdropping before Merrill noticed them.)_

_“We’re headed to one of the outer Zones for the evening,” Carver explains. “You could follow us on your bike until we find a place to set up camp.”_

_“Oh, perfect!” Merrill says. “I’ve been meaning to head that way. Too many Dracs this close to Bat City.”_

_When the Hawkes climb back into the Camaro, Marian steals a glance at Merrill in the rearview mirror, watches as their newfound companion unties a green bandana from her belt loop and wraps it around her head to keep her hair out of her face. When Marian steps on the gas pedal and tears out of the Dead Pegasus parking lot, the roar of the motorcycle lets her know that Deadly Daisy is right behind them._

—

Fenris doesn’t sleep well that night.

Granted, Fenris doesn’t sleep well most nights, but for some reason, the night after Bethany gets shot in the leg is particularly bad. Maybe it’s the hard concrete floor of the warehouse, which no amount of blankets or cushions can completely alleviate. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s lying only a few feet away from Garrett, who sleeps like a log and snores like a chainsaw. Maybe it’s the pain in his shoulder from an injury a few days prior.

Or maybe it’s the fact that tonight, his nightmares are worse than usual. Tonight, when he dreams, he is alone, but worse than that: the bodies of his fellow Killjoys lie dead at his feet, glassy eyes wide, their hands still on the triggers of their guns. Draculoids—more Dracs than he’s ever seen at one time—close in on him, zombielike in the way they reach for him, pull at him from every angle, pin him to the ground and snarl in his face. He’d fight if he could, fight with everything he has, but his body is stiff and frozen, and no amount of willpower can force even his mouth to move. For a man with an aversion to closeness and touching, and painful tattoos from BL/ind experimentation, the sensation of being trapped makes him feel like he’s about to vomit.

It’s when they pull out a Drac mask and shove it over his head that he wakes up gasping for breath.

It takes a few minutes for his body to relax and his heart to stop pounding in his ears. Fenris can see the faintest bit of morning light trickling through the windows—he’d guess that it’s around five o’clock—and concludes that attempting to get a decent amount of sleep will probably be a fruitless endeavor. Sighing and forcing himself to sit upright, he reaches into the small backpack beside him and pulls out a Killjoy-made magazine that they snagged at the last gas stop.

The zine is filled with artwork of desert landscape and rebels fighting BL/ind, accompanied by writing—a few short stories and poems, a few articles and essays, all about the highs and lows of revolution. It’s a perfect representation of life in the Zones, every copy made by hand, since few (if any) Killjoys have access to a working printer. However many were made, probably no more than twenty, the artists and authors must have had to redraw and rewrite their work. Two Polaroid photos are taped to the inside cover, one of a Dead Pegasus gas station at sunset, the other of two female Killjoys kissing, with their names listed at the bottom. There are probably different photos in every copy, likely taken from the same photographer, someone lucky enough to have access to a working Polaroid camera (though Fenris concedes that it’s actually not too difficult to find batteries out here, though they might be half-empty).

He’s so focused on flipping through the zine that he doesn’t realize anyone else is awake—at least, not until the sound of someone sitting down next to him nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

“Sorry,” Anders whispers, holding a hand up. Behind him, the orange light of the sunrise creates a halo around his blond head. “I assume you couldn’t sleep, either?”

Fenris makes a noncommittal grunt, enough to give Anders his answer, but curt enough to hopefully get his _I don’t want to talk about it_ message across. He’d rather not have to even think about the nightmares that his subconscious assaults him with, let alone explain them.

“Alright,” Anders says with an understanding nod. He glances over at the zine, skimming the page Fenris has it open to with clear interest.

Fenris holds it out for him to take. “You can look through it.”

Anders hesitates for a moment before obliging. Fenris watches his face as he flips through the pages. The brilliant poetry and detailed artwork seem to fill him with awe, similar to what Fenris felt browsing the zine’s contents, but there’s something else, too, something deeper—something like longing.

“I wanted to tell you something,” Anders says finally, slowly closing the booklet. “I just remembered, and I think you deserve to know.” He glances over at the windows, and the sun shines on his pale face, reflecting off of his gold earring. Without looking at Fenris, he says, “You have a sister, named Varania.”

Fenris blinks in surprise. _A sister?_ Anders apparently knew him when they both lived in Battery City, before BLI wiped Fenris’s mind—or _reprogrammed_ him, as they like to call it. It’s times like these that make him feel like Anders knows him better than he himself does. “And you’re just now telling me this?” Fenris says in an attempt to mask his bewilderment. A sister. He has a _sister_.

“You only mentioned her once or twice,” Anders says. “It was the last thing on my mind. But something reminded me of it this morning, so I figured I’d tell you.” He shrugs. “I don’t know much else about her. But I know she’s still alive, or she was by the time I left Bat City.”

 _Sister. Sister. Sister._ His brain repeats it so often that it no longer really feels like a word. He knows he’d be angry if Anders had kept this hidden from him, but at the same time, he’s not really sure what he’s supposed to _do_ with the information. She’s probably still in Battery City, which means it’s too late and far too dangerous to go back and search for her, or even attempt to write a letter to her.

Still, he feels like he has to say _something_. “Well,” he mumbles, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Thank you. For telling me.” Then, tilting his head to the side, he adds, “May I ask what reminded you?”

Anders sighs and pushes a few loose strands of hair out of his face. “She appeared in a dream last night.”

Fenris doesn’t expect it to hurt, but it does, just a little. To think that he doesn’t even know what his own sister looks like, while a man who barely knows anything about her sees her in his dreams.

Abruptly, Anders hands the zine back to him and stands up, covering his eyes with a hand to block out the sun. Fenris glances down at the page he left open: a poem written in an angry hand, calling for revolution, calling for justice.

—

_Varric Tethras is what people in the Zones call a “neutral.” He doesn’t wear the flashy clothes, he goes by his real name, and he tends to stay in one spot minding his own business rather than get into fights with Draculoids. He has his own little gas station convenience store in Zone Three and is an expert at aiding Killjoys without giving BLI a reason to go after him. In short, he’s the perfect person to go to when there’s trouble, and there’s always trouble._

_The trouble this time has nothing to do with BL/ind, for once; about five miles away from Varric’s shop, the Camaro broke down, so Marian had to jump start it using Merrill’s motorcycle, and now they’re hanging out in the store while she tries to fix the car._

_Garrett frowns as he glances out the window at the setting sun. “We might have to camp out here for the night, Varric.” It’s not the first time, and he knows Varric doesn’t mind, but he still feels bad about it._

_Varric waves a hand nonchalantly. “Yeah, I figured,” he says from behind the store counter, where he seems to be digging through some junk he’s stored underneath. Varric is a whopping four-foot-eight, so the chair he uses to reach the counter makes most other people who sit in it look like giants. Merrill finds a particular delight in this, and she’s so sweet that anyone would feel terrible asking her to get off of it, even Marian, which has been an especially interesting phenomenon to witness._

_As if on cue, the front door swings open, and there stands Marian, covered in grease and wearing nothing but a sports bra and ripped black shorts. “I’m turning in for the night,” she says as she waltzes into the shop, letting the door slam shut behind her. “Round two starts in the morning.”_

_Garrett watches as she heads into the bathroom to wash herself off. Carver came in from practicing his shooting about a half hour ago (and is currently sitting on the floor eating potato chips), so now they’re all inside for the evening. Bethany’s been drawing quietly, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sits on the worn couch in one of the back rooms, and Garrett and Merrill have been making their own fun out front. The store is Varric’s home, so he had to get creative with the few extra rooms._

_Garrett is wandering aimlessly through the little aisles, examining various snacks, all stamped with the BLI logo, when he hears the front door open, and in walks possibly the most gorgeous Killjoy Garrett has ever seen._

_The first thing he notices is the shock of silver-white hair, the way the undercut contrasts against the man’s brown skin. The dim light of the store reflects against his leather jacket and his surprisingly wide eyes. When he takes a few steps forward, a chain hanging from his black jeans—yes, jeans, in the desert—makes a jangling sound, and his heavy footsteps suggest combat boots. He looks like he just walked out of a mosh pit, but that’s not what intrigues Garrett the most. No, what really catches his attention is the pale white tattoos that stretch from the man’s bottom lip down into his chest and out to the tips of his fingers—they almost seem to glow. “Varric?” the man calls in a deep voice as he surveys the area._

_Varric pops his head out from the back of the store. “Oh-ho! Long time no see, Wolfy!”_

_The man rolls his eyes at the nickname and leans awkwardly against one of the snack aisles. “I see you are having a sleepover,” he says slowly as he eyes each of the Birds suspiciously (save for Marian, who is still washing up, thankfully). Bethany walks out into the store to see him better, and Garrett flashes him his best good-natured smile, causing the man to raise an eyebrow at him._

_“Their car broke down not far from here,” Varric explains as he walks out from behind the store counter. “And because I’m just so charitable, I let them stay for the night.” That’s his way of saying that they’re friends._

_“Hm.” The man makes his way through the store, seemingly on edge, like he’s keenly aware of the way the Birds glance his way out of the corners of their eyes, pretending that they’re not looking at him. Eventually, Garrett gives up on trying to be inconspicuous and plops down in a chair pushed up against one wall, allowing himself to stare openly. He’s never been good with subtlety._

_Suddenly Marian’s voice rings out through the shop. “Who’s this?”_

_Varric clears his throat. “Birds of Passage, allow me to formally introduce you to the Painted Wolf. He’s kind of new, doesn’t have a gang to roll with yet.”_

_The Painted Wolf looks away, not making eye contact as he wanders into another aisle where he can’t as easily be seen. “I think I would prefer to keep it that way. No offense.”_

_After a few beats of silence, Merrill says from her place on top of the chair behind the store counter, “You have tattoos, like me.”_

_Instinctively, almost as if he was expecting it, the Wolf replies, “But you received yours willingly, I’ll wager.”_

_Merrill blinks in surprise. “Well. Yes, I did. You mean you didn’t?”_

_The Painted Wolf does not respond, just runs a hand through his hair and takes a breath through his nose._

_Garrett frowns a little and stands back up, making his way over to where Marian is still standing in front of the bathroom door, her arms crossed. “Don’t tell me,” she says quietly. “You think we should let him come with us.”_

_Garrett shrugs. “Well, why not? He doesn’t have anyone. And he’s…intriguing.”_

_Marian rolls her eyes. “You’re just saying that because you think he’s hot.”_

_“I do not,” Garrett lies, but his face heats up, giving him away. “Okay, well, maybe I do, but that’s not the only reason.”_

_Marian shakes her head. “He doesn’t seem too keen on making friends. I mean, he just said he’d rather be alone. Also, what you call ‘intriguing’ I call ‘suspicious.’ The man’s got secrets.”_

_“So do we,” Garrett says, though at the moment he can’t think of anything particularly damning. If nothing else, he’s sure Carver’s got something embarrassing._

_“You being gay doesn’t count as a secret when you gawk at any man that isn’t related to us,” Marian says, a tiny smirk forming on her face._

_“That’s not what I meant!” Garrett says. He can feel his face turning even redder. He needs to find a way to get Marian on his side, and if he can’t do it with emotion, then maybe he can do it with logic. “Seriously, I think we should talk to him. He’s a new Killjoy, but he looks way more experienced than most newbies. He might even be older than us. I’d be willing to bet he knows something about BL/ind. I just think he’d be good to have on our side. And it’s not like he has to stay with us forever.”_

_Marian seems to think it over for a long time. It’s different than it was with Merrill. Unlike the Wolf, Merrill had expressed a clear interest in finding a group to fall in with, and the Birds just happened to be the first ones to click with her. Also, Marian is a lesbian and about ten times more suspicious of men than she is of women as a general rule, which is fair, but it makes these things difficult sometimes. Finally, she says, “Fine. If you can convince him, then I’m game. I can go tell the others.” She cracks her knuckles. “At the very least, he looks like he knows something worth knowing.”_

_Garrett holds his hands up. “Well, hopefully you won’t have to beat it out of him, so you can stop with the threatening looks.”_

_Marian snorts. “Just asserting my dominance, my dear little brother.” She reaches forward and musses his hair._

_Garrett shakes his head as he starts to head over to the other side of the store, where the Wolf is standing. He doesn’t bother pointing out that she’s only older than him by nine minutes, because she’ll hang those nine minutes over his head until the day they die._

_The Painted Wolf looks up from the magazine he’s been flipping through. “Let me guess,” he says. “You want me to join your gang.”_

_Garrett smiles sheepishly. “What can I say? We think you’d be a good addition to the team.”_

_The Wolf frowns and puts the magazine back on the rack. “You barely know anything about me.”_

_“I know you’re a Killjoy traveling alone, and that’s enough for me,” Garrett says, and it’s the truth. Killjoys stick together. It’s the law of the desert. It’s how they survive._

_The Wolf narrows his eyes. “I already said I prefer to be alone.”_

_Garrett folds his arms over his chest, allowing his knowledge of the Zones to give him confidence. “That’s how I can tell you’re new,” he says. “Rule number one of making it as a Killjoy: find a gang. Hordes of Dracs are less likely to target larger groups, and even if they do, you have a better chance of making it out alive when you’re not alone. If you watch our backs, we’ll watch yours.”_

_The Wolf nods slowly, as if this just confirmed something he already suspected. “You watch our backs, we’ll watch yours,” he repeats to himself. “It’s...a sentiment I am not entirely familiar with.”_

_“I figured you were from Bat City,” Garrett says, stroking his beard thoughtfully. (Carver and Marian like to make fun of him when he does that. Marian says it makes him look like an asshole.)_

_The Wolf nods again. “The sense of camaraderie was one of the things that drew me to the Zones, and to the Killjoy lifestyle specifically. But until now, I suppose I have been too wary to actively engage in it.”_

_Garrett raises an eyebrow, careful not to show too much excitement. “Until now, you say?”_

_The Wolf gives the softest chuckle, his mouth curving briefly upward. “Perhaps you have a point about me traveling alone. BL/ind knows that I left Battery City; no doubt they’re looking for me. It...would be prudent to join a larger group, at least for a little while.”_

_Garrett allows himself the beginnings of a grin. “It definitely would.”_

_The Wolf clears his throat. “I...never got your name,” he says, fingers playing mindlessly with the hem of his jacket._

_“Firebird,” Garrett replies, holding a hand out for him to shake._

_The Wolf looks at it for a moment before responding. “Well, then, Firebird,” he says slowly, “if you’ll have me, I would like to travel with you and your gang.”_

_“I certainly would love to have you,” Garrett replies, only realizing how strange it sounds once the words are out of his mouth. His face heats up. “I...I didn’t mean it like—”_

_Across the room, Marian calls, “Real smooth.” Garrett flips her off._

_An awkward little smile forms on the Wolf’s face. “I know what you meant,” he says, but if Garrett isn’t mistaken, he’s blushing, too._

—

A few days later, Varric, whose talents include knowing everything that’s happening in the Zones, says, “So I got a tip that there’s someone after you guys.”

Isabela rolls her eyes and leans against the counter, conscious of the way her ripped white jean shorts ride up her ass—she’s doing it on purpose, and she peers over her shoulder to make sure Marian’s watching. “Someone’s _always_ after us, Varric. This isn’t new.”

“No, like a _major_ someone,” Varric replies. “Does the name Meredith Stannard mean anything to any of you?”

The Birds exchange glances from their various positions throughout the shop. They’ve all heard the name, but only Fenris and Anders seem to know who she is. Makes sense, since they’re the only ones who have actually lived in Battery City and seen BL/ind’s inner workings up close.

“She’s a Scarecrow, right?” Marian says from behind Isabela. She steps forward and takes a large sip out of her Neptune Pop can. “Isn’t that all we need to know?”

“She isn’t just any old Scarecrow,” Fenris says as he examines the shelves for more food. “She is one of the Director’s favorites—very high-ranking, always flanked by six or more Draculoids and sometimes other Scarecrows. I have known a few BL/ind workers who do not wish to kill, but do so because they fear the consequences of disobeying.” He shakes his head, speaking calmly but severely. “Meredith is not one of them. She kills out of hate and nothing less. She views it as her duty, a mission she will carry out until the day she dies. I suggest taking her seriously. She has slaughtered many of you.”

The way he refers to Killjoys isn’t lost on Isabela. It’s been a little less than a year, she thinks, since he left Battery City and joined the rebels in the Zones, but he still seems hesitant to identify himself as one of them. He still refers to them as _you_ instead of _us_.

His words send a brief chill down Isabela’s spine, but she shakes it off and looks up at Marian to gauge her reaction. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t seem fazed.

“It doesn’t matter how many of us she’s killed,” she says. The piercings in her left ear gleam in the light from the windows. “She bleeds just like the rest of us, and she’ll die just like the rest of us.”

Varric holds a hand up. “Fair point, I suppose. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. My source says Meredith considers you guys one of the most dangerous gangs in the Zones. That means one of her biggest priorities is wiping you out. Just...be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name,” Marian says as she finishes her Neptune Pop, crushes the can in one hand, and launches it across the store, causing Anders to duck because of his ridiculously long bird legs. The can lands in the garbage bin with a loud _crash_.

Marian grins. It’s lopsided, and her teeth are crooked and stained with soda, but it just makes Isabela want to kiss that alluring, imperfect mouth even more.

“I thought your middle name was Selene,” Merrill says from her designated spot in Varric’s chair. They call it the Tallening Chair.

Marian’s face softens, and her cheeks turn pink as she gently explains to Merrill that it’s a figure of speech. Isabela watches in silence until Marian suddenly turns to her, lightly smacks her ass, and says with a playful glint in her eyes, “Well, back to business.”

Isabela smirks. _Works every time._

—

It only takes half an hour for Marian’s nonchalance about Meredith Stannard to come back and bite her in the ass.

“Guys!”

Garrett bursts through the front door of Varric’s shop, his eyes wide and panicked. He’d been outside restocking the trunk with supplies. “I think we’ve got company.”

Marian peers outside, and the rest of the Birds do the same. Sure enough, veering into the parking lot are two white vans with the Better Living Industries symbol emblazoned on their doors.

_Shit._

In a flash, they all whip out their ray guns and rush outside just in time to see a horde of Dracs pouring out of the vans. Then, from the passenger seat of one of the vans, a woman climbs out. She’s tall, blonde, and middle-aged, and her eyes seem to pierce right through them.

“Ah,” she says as the Dracs line up behind her, brandishing their plain white ray guns. “The notorious Birds of Passage, or so you call yourselves.” As she speaks, she pulls out her own weapon and seems to aim it straight at Marian. “It looks as though you’ve been expecting me.”

For a moment, the two groups just stand there silently, revolvers pointed at one another, a classic example of a Mexican standoff. It feels like the air has been sucked out of the atmosphere, like the atoms themselves have stopped moving completely. Then Meredith snaps her fingers with her free hand, and the desert explodes in gunfire.

**Author's Note:**

> killjoy names:  
> garrett - firebird  
> marian - kitty hawke  
> bethany - midnight sun  
> carver - fantom fighter  
> merrill - deadly daisy  
> anders - nuclear blonde  
> isabela - storm chaser  
> fenris - the painted wolf


End file.
